Retribution
by Clara Barton
Summary: For the Tumblr Summer of Zechs Festival. For the June 5th prompts: Childhood and Anger Years after the war, Zechs has a chance to seek retribution.


June 5: Anger

A/N: Always, always thanks to Ro, my amazing beta reader.

A/N2: I read TB_1157's AMAZING Caveat on AO3 recently and she had developed a slang system for each of the colonies and I thought that was a great idea. So "Double" as a term for L2 natives is inspired by that. I think she used Twofers, which I love (because also it's a thing with theatrical lighting and Duo would love that).

Warnings: VIOLENCE, gore, death (not major character), language

Pairings: 6x2

 _Retribution_

There was a reason that Une kept Zechs out in the field as much as she could. Partly, it was because their shared history made things painfully awkward at times, painfully empathetic at others. And partly it was because Zechs's presence at HQ tended to result in increased tension among the older agents and a _lot_ of time taking the scenic route and passing by his desk by the younger agents.

As such, Zechs hadn't ever been much for socializing with his fellow agents. He had his steady partner for field missions, a former corpsman from the Alliance infantry who had expressed her opinion of Zechs over tequila one night three years ago in terms that could, politely, be called less than flattering. They worked well together, however, and Zechs trusted her with his life; to both of their surprise, she trusted him with hers as well. Their relationship, however, did not extend past working hours. Even though _she_ went out with other agents for drinks on occasion, no one had bothered to include Zechs in the blanket invitations. He wasn't sure who would be more uncomfortable if he were to show up - the other agents or himself.

Outside of Preventers, it was equally challenging to find companionship - he was either too well-known or not well-known _enough_. Zechs had trouble developing any sort of relationship with someone who had no idea who he was, what he had done, what he still had nightmares over.

It was surprising, but perhaps not very, all things considered, that Duo Maxwell had become the exception to the rule of Zechs's isolation.

The younger man was also an agent in Preventers, also spent as much time as far away from Une as he could manage, and also had difficulty fitting in with their peers. The reasons were both similar and dissimilar from Zechs's, and it had resulted in one night of bitter drinking at a bar on Christmas Eve, followed by a few more nights that hadn't been planned, before they started planning them and before they stopped going to the bar altogether and simply met at Zechs's apartment.

Their schedules didn't always align - they were both agents that Une liked to send in on high-security, high-risk situations, and as such, one or the other of them was almost always out on assignment - but they made the most of their time when they could.

Even though it had been almost a year since they began scheduling time together, even though the past six months had involved almost as much time spent together clothed as naked, there was still something between them, something that kept the edge of uncertainty between them and full intimacy.

It gave Zechs hesitation, when the information he had stumbled upon proved to be accurate. He wanted- No, he _needed_ to tell someone. The fact that Duo Maxwell, his former enemy, was the first and _only_ person he wanted to tell gave Zechs even more hesitation.

When he arrived home at his apartment that evening and found Duo already there, Zechs made his decision.

They hadn't moved in together - nothing of the sort, in fact. It was only over the last two months that Duo actually stayed the entire night and woke up beside him; only three weeks ago that Duo had shown up with what was unmistakably a go-bag and wordlessly hidden it beside Zechs's in the secret compartment in his closet.

He had given Duo a key months ago, knowing full well that the other man was capable of breaking in if he wanted to and knowing that offering something that had even a whiff of commitment might spook the other man, but Duo had accepted it with a grave expression and surprised Zechs by using it that very night.

Finding Duo in his apartment wasn't much of a surprise, and the bag of take-out from the Indian restaurant three blocks away was _very_ welcome.

They had polished off most of the lamb korma, and Zechs was idly soaking up the last of the sauce with a scrap of na'an when Duo finally wrapped up his extensively-detailed and humorous monologue on the failings of his new partner.

He nudged Zechs's thigh with his foot.

"You gonna tell me what's bothering you before or after we fuck?"

Zechs gave him a look, but Duo returned it, his own gaze steady and his expression not quite open but definitely far from hostile.

"Either way's fine," Duo said with a shrug. "Just curious how sore I'm gonna be after."

Zechs wasn't sure if Duo was saying that to needle him or simply stating fact. There were times when they _were_ rough with each other, times when they left bruises and their eyes were filled with unspeakable things that could only be released by screaming into a pillow and clawing at each other. There were also times when they were, if not gentle, _softer_.

Of course, Duo had made it clear that first time - and several times since - that he thought rough was easier than soft. Zechs tended to agree with him, for all that he never said so.

Zechs abandoned the na'an and drew in a deep breath.

"I found the man who killed Marticus."

He could see Duo out of the corner of his eye, could see how, without moving, he became still and deadly.

"The guy who led the go-team?" Duo's voice was soft.

Zechs nodded and stood up. He started to gather the food.

Duo followed him into the kitchen a moment later, carrying the rest, the expression on his face inscrutable.

They cleaned up in silence, packing away the leftovers and loading the dishwasher and cleaning off their hands and the countertop, moving around each other in the small kitchen with ease, with practice.

"Is it actionable?" Duo finally asked eventually, after allowing Zechs to stare at the polished surface of the stovetop for too long.

"Yes."

Zechs watched Duo watch him.

They had shared their pasts in fits and starts, drunken ramblings that, over time, turned into pre-dawn confessions whispered against a shoulder. Zechs wouldn't have expected to have as much in common with Duo as he did, and while the Maxwell Church Massacre and the destruction of the Sanq Kingdom weren't the same, they were similar enough, the victims innocent enough, the memories of fire and smoke strong enough, that Zechs knew Duo understood.

They had both turned their backs on fathers who espoused peace, had spent their youth believing justice was impossible and revenge only for the taking if it was dripping in blood, and they had both paid the price for their follies, their arrogance.

Zechs still hadn't managed to reconcile his present with his past, nor had Duo. He doubted either of them ever would.

Duo crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to the side.

"I have some leave saved up."

Duo could have been offering to take care of it himself or he could have been offering to be Zechs's backup. Either way, he wasn't judging, and he wasn't making assumptions about what Zechs wanted to do.

In some ways, Zechs wished he _would_.

It might make it easier - if Duo made it clear _how_ he thought Zechs should act, Zechs could either take solace in the support or unleash his frustration and uncertainty on the other man. Instead, Duo was taking away both of those options.

Zechs had made too many mistakes in his life already, letting others dictate his actions.

He held out his hand and Duo stepped closer, ignoring the hand and fitting his hips against Zechs instead.

"Don't leave any marks on my face," Duo correctly judged his mood. "I'm meeting Heero for lunch tomorrow."

-o-

Two weeks later found them in a rented truck with shitty suspension that was getting shittier with each rut in the dirt road that Duo took at full speed.

He was pissed, which Zechs understood, and all he could do was quite literally ride it out.

After the first thirty miles, Zechs had given in and grabbed the handhold overhead. After an hour, Zechs was pretty sure the handhold was on the verge of coming free of its anchor.

"Just _say it_ ," Zechs finally bit out.

Duo spared him a glare before yanking the steering wheel, almost bottoming out the truck in a ditch as he pulled to the side of the road.

He yanked the key out of the ignition, treating the admittedly shitty truck worse than any piece of equipment Zechs had ever seen him interact with.

Duo drew in a deep breath and released it slowly.

"You really thought telling _Une_ we were fucking was a good idea."

Zechs was forced to remember that Duo Maxwell had once called himself the God of Death.

"She asked for my recommendation, and I told her I was biased."

"You- you should have fucking _lied_!"

"I'm supposed to ignore the fact that _anything_ I think about you professionally is colored by our personal relationship?"

"Yeah, you fucking _are_!"

Zechs had seen Duo furious before, had seen him dress down a new recruit so thoroughly the man quit on the spot, had seen him reduce hardened ex-Alliance officers to tears and put one of the hand-to-hand combat instructors in the med bay. But he had never had Duo's fury directed at _him_.

It was certainly an educational experience.

"How many times have I listened to you complain about about the corruption and nepotism in Preventers? You really want me to become just like all the rest of them?"

A muscle in Duo's jaw jumped and something flashed in his eyes.

"If you really think me sucking your dick on the regular means that you can't offer an honest assessment of my skills in the field and whether or not I deserve a promotion, then you're a shitty field agent and you should probably take it upon yourself to get reassigned to something administrative."

The words were harsh, and Duo's tone was as arctic as his eyes.

Zechs fought back his own fury, his _own_ sense of betrayal, and just barely kept himself from responding to Duo in kind.

"You never said you wanted to work undercover ops."

Duo stared at him, stared _through_ him.

"You selfish son of a bitch."

It was unfortunate that Duo knew him so well, could so easily unwind his thoughts.

"You fucked me over so you could keep fucking me."

Duo's hands were clenched on the steering column, his knuckles stark white against the rough, tanned skin of his hands and the faint webbing of scars and burns.

"I told Une I was biased _because_ I didn't want to fuck you over. Yes, I'm selfish, and yes, I don't want you to go on undercover missions that take months and _years_ of embed. But I didn't fuck you over. I told her I was biased so that I didn't say or do anything to make her doubt your ability to do the work."

"Yeah, you're a real fucking saint, Zechs Merquise. Instead of just fucking me out in the open, you do it in the shitty, underhand OZ way. She's not going to put me in undercover because she doesn't want your fucking focus compromised. So _fuck you_ in all of the ways that you wouldn't enjoy, you sick fucking-"

Zechs reached over and yanked Duo against him, grateful for the _only_ time that Duo hadn't put on his seatbelt.

Duo shoved back at him and they grappled for a moment, before Zechs managed to pin him against the driver's side window.

They were both breathing heavily, and the look in Duo's eyes would have sent a sane man fleeing.

He held Duo down until he could feel his own heart rate return to normal, until the rise of Duo's chest became steady and the steel in the other man's body softened to sullen contempt.

"I didn't know she would prioritize me over you."

He genuinely hadn't, had truly not thought that acknowledging a personal relationship with Duo would result in the other man not getting the transfer he so clearly wanted.

He didn't regret it for one second, however, and Duo surely knew that.

"Get off me," Duo sighed.

Zechs moved away, back to his side of the cab, and watched Duo pull himself back together.

Duo put the key back in the ignition and managed to coax the truck back up to a speed that was significantly faster than the speed limit. He did, however, avoid the worst of the pot holes.

-o-

Sam Mulroy.

Fifty-seven. Married and divorced. Father of two. Lived alone on a struggling goat ranch three hours from the nearest town, forty minutes from any neighbors.

They arrived just after sunset and Duo parked the truck two miles from the ranch, pulling off into a copse of trees and shutting off the ignition.

Duo was silent as they prepped, his movements economical, his interactions with Zechs confined to passing gear and syncing comm units.

After it was fully dark, they approached the house, Duo neutralizing the gaunt, poorly cared for dog with a tranquilizer before he managed to get off more than a single bark. They avoided the pastures, Duo muttering something about goats being crazy fucking dicks that were even more territorial than Zechs.

The back door to the house was unlocked, and the light streaming through the screen door had the amber quality that only Terran appliances still carried.

Zechs could see Duo's disdainful scowl as they continued their approach, as he took in the unkempt yard and the siding in need of repair.

Mulroy was eating his evening meal on a tray, seated in an overstuffed chair, his attention focused entirely on the entertainment programming that reflected a kaleidoscope of colors across his face.

Duo shot him once, in the left knee-cap, aborting Mulroy's move to flee, and they both ignored his agonized screaming as they hauled him into the thoroughly depressing bathroom and shoved him into the tub.

Mulroy continued to scream, the wordless shrieks turning into articulate swearing when Duo zip-tied his hands and feet together.

He didn't question anything, though, didn't demand to know what was going on or who they were, and his resistance was limited to a token but well-timed attempt to grab Duo's pistol from his shoulder holster as the other man worked to secure his feet. It resulted in Mulroy's temple being split open as Duo slammed his head into the sharp metal edge of the shower door, and Zechs watched the streak of blood left behind slowly progress towards the bathtub.

Duo straightened up once Mulroy was secure, looked at Zechs and waited for Zechs to nod before he left the room.

Alone with Mulroy, Zechs felt the slick, bitter burn of bile.

He had killed before, had even found himself carrying out executions like this for Une, for the sake of preserving peace.

But this…

Zechs pulled off his balaclava, and Mulroy's eyes widened and then narrowed.

Even without a beard, Zechs knew he was similar enough to Marticus that the man recognized him.

He waited, wondering if Mulroy would offer an explanation, if he would plead or try to reason with Zechs.

The only sound, however, was that of Duo systematically wrecking the house so that this didn't look like the paramilitary execution that it was.

Eventually, Mulroy grew tired of the silence, of the unknown, and he sneered at Zechs.

"You need your partner to do _everything_ for you? Never figured Peacecraft's boy for a coward. Even if you are a-"

Zechs shot him. Once in the liver, once in the left lung. With medical attention, he could live. Without it, he would die rather painfully.

Mulroy tried to draw in a breath, struggled with it and ended up coughing, hacking up blood and phlegm.

"I shoulda listened to that Double." Mulroy spat out a mouthful of blood and offered Zechs a gruesome grin.

"What?" he found himself asking.

"Some shit. Called two days ago, told me death was coming for me. I figured… figured it was some Double ghosting the nets… Shoulda known. Shoulda known."

Double. A Terran term for an L2 colonial. Someone had called Mulroy, someone with an accent who identified himself as death.

Zechs felt his hand tighten on the grip of his pistol.

Duo had called Mulroy, had warned him. Had tried to spook him.

Had tried to keep Zechs from murdering him.

Mulroy coughed again, the sound horribly _wet_ , and Zechs shot him once more, a clean headshot that left a mess of blood and brains on the tile.

They didn't talk until they were back at the truck, until they had shed their tac gear and Duo had shoved it all into a bag in the bed of the truck, and Duo backed the car through the trees and onto the shitty dirt road again.

"Une wants me to take over recruit training."

That, as much as the rejection of his transfer request, had to be infuriating for Duo.

"What did you tell her?" Zechs asked, knowing already that Duo had to have rejected the offer.

"That I'd rather transfer to Mars than spend my days teaching a bag of dicks how to wipe their noses."

Zechs found his lips twitch. He didn't doubt that Duo had said exactly that.

"Her response?"

"Next shuttle leaves for Mars in three months. I'm allowed five kilos of personal gear."

Zechs turned to stare at him, but in the darkness Duo's profile didn't give much of anything away.

After a moment, Duo looked over, dark eyes flickering over Zechs's stony face.

"There's, ah, a shit-ton of paperwork to fill out if you transfer there too."

" _What_?"

"You said it wasn't that bad, Mars. Said there were times when you thought about going back."

Zechs sank back against his seat and tried to process what Duo was saying, tried to tease out what he _wasn't_ saying.

"You're going to make the garrison commander's life hell," he muttered, imagining _Duo Maxwell_ cooped up in the network of hab modules that made some L2 colonies seem luxurious.

"Considering how fucking pissed I am, you'll deserve it."

Zechs had heard that Birch wanted out. She'd been stationed there for six years, and had apparently hated it since day one.

"You called Mulroy."

"Yeah."

"I killed him anyway."

"I figured you would. Had to try, though."

"You think I should have let him live."

"No. But you woulda done it for me - if I found the guys who wasted Father Maxwell. You woulda tried to keep my hands clean."

Duo was looking at him again, the dark road stretching out endlessly ahead of them, empty and desolate.

"If we request shared quarters, we might get a shower in the unit."

-o-


End file.
